The Other Side of Midnight
Part I
I tremble at the door...Suite 1250. Yes. This is the room number he gave me an
hour ago, his voice rumbling through my cell phone with a decidedly wicked tone.
So confident and excited an hour ago...so scared, and nervous and....small now.
I stand there, my weekend travel bag slung over my shoulder, my purse hanging
down to my side and just stare at the door.
This door is a new beginning for me...once opened, it can never be shut again.
Do I want to open it? What awaits me on the other side? Oh, I know the mechanics
of the other side, but do I really know what's in store for me? Do I really
think I can handle it? Want to handle it? I sigh and the brass suite numbers
stare at me accusingly as if to say "Make up your mind already...in or out?" I
hear music coming from inside the room, soft, haunting classical overtures by
one of the masters, I suppose. It sends chills up and down my spine.
I sense a presence on the other side of that door, but the door swings open and
the decision is taken from me as you are there, looming, towering over me making
me feel even smaller than I did already. Despite the warm smile upon your face,
despite your obvious joy at seeing me there, I hesitate, fear clenching my
heart. Your hand reaches out and takes my bag and ushers me inside before I can
voice a protest. I do not know where my voice went, but it's apparent that it
has deserted me...my mouth opens, but no sound emerges.
The suite momentarily distracts me. It is wide and spacious and bathed in a warm
glow. Candles are lit and spread throughout the luxurious interior. The dim
lighting might mask the soft flush upon my cheeks, but somehow I feel you notice
it anyways. You are uncanny that way. You wear a knowing smile as I am led
deeper and deeper into the room. I cast a nervous glance at the door as it
stands open, the safety and security of the hallway, of the life that I have
hitherto known still visible, still offering me a chance.
I am led to a sofa and gently guided to a seated position, my purse now joining
my overnight bag on a nearby chair and I watch, helplessly, an observer as you
stride across the plush carpeting to the door and shut it. The hallway
disappears from view and my heart freezes, stops beating as the sound of the
lock sliding home echoes above the stereo. My throat constricts, and all the
moisture from within heads directly to my palms which begin to sweat
unceremoniously.
You return to my side before I can formulate any coherent thoughts. Do you know
how scared I am? Do you know the turmoil, the angst that is pulsing through me?
Can you see my torn desires? The desire to flee...the desire to stay...the
desire to hide...the desire to fly...they all wage a silent war inside of me.
Which will win the day? Which will emerge victorious?
"A glass of wine before we begin?" He raises a querying eyebrow at me and unable
to speak, I merely nod, feeling like an unschooled girl in the throes of her
first love. I must look like an idiot, sitting there, eyes darting back and
forth, unable to look at you, unable to look away. But you say nothing more;
just make yourself scarce for a few minutes, leaving me with my torn and ravaged
thoughts.
***
I sense her presence on the other side of the door. I can hear her heartbeat,
erratic, rapid. I can taste her fear and her desire. It is nearly suffocating.
The force of her doubts is a sweet taste in my mouth. She is already unbalanced,
unsure, but unable to back away. I decide to let her off easy and open the door
quickly. Smiling to reassure her, I take the bag and her arm and pull her easily
inside of the room. It's a good room, reserved to impress her, show her what I
can give her in return for the gift she is giving me. Her eyes widen and she is
distracted enough that she brooks no resistance as I lead her to the oversized
leather couch deep into the room.
She is trembling and flushed. She is clearly standing on the edge and is finally
feeling the reality of the moment, understanding the magnitude of her choice. I
nod. This is a good thing. She has always been light hearted and teasing up to
now and I am glad to see some seriousness take hold of her. I push her softly
down into the plush cushions of the sofa and inquire if she would like a drink.
Wine. Normally I don't drink before playing, but I sense she needs a bit of a
bracer, something to calm her nerves. Just this once I think it will be ok.
When I return, she is still looking straight ahead, the paleness of her face
offset by the lovely flush upon her cheeks. She accepts the glass, still not
chancing a look at my face. Had she looked, she would have seen rampant desire.
Oh, not only for her, but for the control that in moments I was going to take,
for the power that I would wield over her in but a few ticks of the clock. Did
she realize? Did she know? I mean, did she really know?
A quizzical look at her profile and I knew that she is feeling it, is
acknowledging it. She wouldn't be able to go back after tonight and she knew it.
She kept glancing at the locked door every so often before returning her
frightened gaze back to the wine glass gripped tightly in her hand. A good thing
I chose a light colored Asti...she was liable to snap the stem and send the
contents to the sand colored carpeting under her feet.
Oh, yes, her feet. Her dainty, tiny little feet. They carried such a delectable
weight upon them day in and day out, normally in serviceable flats or loafers or
even sneakers. I shudder at the thought of her feet misused so. Tonight they
would balance her swaying breasts and jiggling fanny precariously, tipped up and
elegant, resplendid from their six inch platform. I smile in unbridled glee. She
eschewed high heels, giggled at my fetish. She wouldn't be laughing tonight.
I engage her in small talk, inquiring about her drive, ask her if she is hungry
and would like to go to dinner. She answers the first question stiltedly, but
blanches at the second one. It's amusing to me to watch the play of emotions
across her face. It's clear that in her nervousness the very thought of food is
repulsive to her and yet, she longs to postpone the inevitable, she wants a few
more hours to regain her composure, find her footing.
I am impressed as she declines the slight reprieve I offer. She knows...she
knows that delaying things will only make matters worse, make her stomach clench
even further. Her silky hair swings about her face seductively as she indicates
no. She's a smart girl, it's one of the reasons I desire her, chose her to be my
companion. I will be good to her, she knows this. But she also knows, I smile as
her gaze takes in the opulence of the suite once more, that everything comes
with a price...and she, in her limited experience is trying to add it all up.
A pity that the price I'm talking about has nothing to do with the room. The
room, though expensive, is nothing to me, merely a stage, a show room to display
her ample charms and showcase her beauty as she submits, as she surrenders to my
will. And that, that is the price I'm talking about, the price I will exact from
her. I wonder if she still thinks it will be easy. If she thinks that the antics
which make her desirable online will be tolerated here, here in the real
world...here where fantasies meet reality and dreams become flesh...sometimes
mingling with blood.
I take the empty glass from her hands and am rewarded by a frightened gaze. I
stifle a chuckle. Oh, yes, she knows this time will be different, her knees
won't bend in cyber space but here, and they will feel the pile of the carpeting
abrade them, feel the immobility of the hardwood floor scrape them, and the cold
tile of the bathroom shower against them. Four days. Four full days after
tonight...and four more nights to explore the edge of her world, to test the
limits of her universe.
"Strip."
***
Asti Spumante is my favorite and some where in my panic clouded brain I know
that this vintage is exceptional. Yet I could have been sipping raw sewage for
all I tasted of the delicate beverage. Those fingers of his, long and lean,
circling the stem of the crystal goblet are all I see. They will be twining
around so much more soon and the image that evokes sends a shudder rippling
through me. I hear his voice, husky, low, safe and non-threatening filter
through my ears. I know better, though. He is hardly safe. At this moment, as I
feel control rapidly disappearing in the romantic flickering candle light, he's
the most dangerous creature to walk the face of the planet. And, damn the man,
he knows it, too.
I curse myself a thousand ways from Sunday as I tell him that I had an
uneventful drive up. The truth couldn't be further from that. I shook so badly
at times that it was only the handiwork of some diligent guardian angels that
kept me on the roads. I quaked and I feared and I questioned my own judgment and
yet still, I drove on, still I longed, and still I ached with an intensity that
left me breathless. What was it about him that drew me so? What did he possess
that so many before him did not? What secret weapon was at his command that
compelled me against all reason and logic to meet him here?
Dinner? How could I possibly eat at a time like this? It was all I could do to
get air to my quivering lungs. But still, it would give me some time...but it
wouldn't change a thing. The outcome had been determined by my attendance. Oh,
why hadn't I escaped before he had opened the door? And why did he have to look
so darned handsome standing there in his black, tailored slacks and black,
button down silk shirt? His smug smile did nothing to detract from his
appearance. And if I'm honest with myself, it made him all the more appealing,
had only sealed my fate a little more securely.
But this was what I wanted, wasn't it? What I needed? The reins of control
wrested from my grasp, the guise of power stripped from me, to stand there
exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy? That was what I wanted, right?
Suddenly, I didn't know. Looked at in that light it sounded silly and
impractical and so polar to everything that I stand for. What was wrong with me?
He's a decent man, he'll let me leave.
I look around the elegant sitting room, one of many in this elaborate suite. I
take in the heavy brocade curtains covering the sliding doors that lead out onto
a private balcony over looking the Potomac River. I see and feel the warm glow
of the fireplace burning cheerily in the corner, its flames dancing in the
gleaming crystals of the overhead chandelier. I regard the sleek mahogany bar,
the double doors on either side of the room, leading to equally impressive
chambers beyond. Even the artwork adorning the walls paid a silent tribute to
the care and lavish attention that must have drove the cost of this suite to
epic proportions.
I peek at him from the corners of my eyes and swallow hard. No. There would be
no turning back now. The control had already been relinquished. Now, only the
cost remained to be paid.
"Strip."
I jerk my startled gaze to his and gape stupidly at him.
"Strip."
He sat and propped his feet up on an over stuffed leather ottoman indolently. I
watch as his hands play idly with his champagne glass, gaze rapt as his fingers
trace the rim...those long, tanned fingers...
"I won't repeat myself again."
I tremble as the harsher tone breaks through my musings. Strip? Here in front of
him? I thought I had prepared for this moment, thought I was ready for it, knew
it was coming. Why was I suddenly so scared? Why did I feel like a trapped
rabbit? I lift my eyes to his...they were steel, hard, inflexible...and
impatient. I blink rapidly feeling the walls close in on me. He narrowed his
eyes and shifted to rise.
This was it. This was the defining moment that I thought would never come. Did I
dare? Could I take this leap? My fingers hover at the top button of my blouse.
They clench and clutch and toy with it, pulling and twisting in a frenzy of
nerves. Oh, my God. This was agony. I was torn and conflicted. I wanted to run
away screaming. I wanted to stay and beg for mercy. Which way to go? Safety or
risk? Sink or swim? Walk or fly?
The button popped loose and I look at him in surprise and wonder. The second one
followed, then the third and then my blouse was hanging open, exposing a small
expanse of the pink lace bra beneath. How did that happen? Button it back up, I
admonish myself, but my hands weren't listening, they were too busy at the
cuffs. I feel real fear and simply stare at his confident smile. What other
parts of me would refuse to listen? Would dance to his will and not my own? Was
this really how it was supposed to be? To feel like? To desire to kick yourself
in the ass but not able to stop yourself from sinking, from slipping from the
heights of self possession to the depths of abject servitude?
My God! What was happening? How much further was I going to fall? Would he be
there to catch me? My God, I think as my shirt slips from my arms and hits the
floor at my feet with a swoosh that is glaringly loud in its finality. My God!
